


Making the Darkness Home

by combatbootninja



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, also there's the tiniest mention of Aoba at the end, because I like to make my dear son suffer, for Noizweek, it's nothing graphic but still there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4117470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combatbootninja/pseuds/combatbootninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The room was dark and lifeless, and all the small boy wanted was to get out.<br/>(aka a small thing focusing on Noiz's time locked away, written on the prompt 'Pain')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making the Darkness Home

**Author's Note:**

> I have a shitload of fics to actually finish but nah, of course I'm gonna put them all on hold to write something completely different. Because that's just how I roll.

For the past 19 years, Noiz's life has been nothing but pain. Not the physical kind, but the mental one, of continuous rejection and hatred. Sometimes he thinks he'd much rather take the physical pain, anything but the numbness that his body has been in since he was born, anything so he wouldn't have to feel like a monster. 

It all starts when he's just a kid, barely turned eight and already locked away from the world. For the first week he does nothing but cry and scream his voice away, then scratching the heavy, locked door until his nails are torn and bleeding. His fingers are still not working properly from when they broke a while back, awkwardly pointing in an unnatural angle. It's hard to clench his fist but he does it anyways, nails biting into the skin of his palms, leaving angry red marks in their wake.  
For a while he just sits there, back against the door and knees pressed to his chest, sobbing quietly for someone to come and help. 

Sometimes he can hear Theo's voice through the door, whispering to him during the night. He never responds, just listens quietly until someone sees his brother and takes the small boy back to bed. No one ever bothers to check on little Noiz. Theo keeps coming back once in a while when no one's around and sometimes he just sits there, Noiz can tell from the sound of fabric moving, and sometimes the younger boy let's out a small whine that sounds a lot like “Wilhelm”.

He's ten when he makes the first intentional cut, hoping to feel at least something.  
And he does, and it's not much, just a faint ticklish feeling, but it's something. Noiz figures a few more won't hurt since there's no one there to stop him anyways. But it's still not enough to take away the pain inside his chest, the one he's been trying to get rid of for years. Eventually the red liquid stops flowing out and Noiz is left on his own again, staring at the mess on his skinny wrist. He lets himself shed a few tears, no more, no less. Just the few he needs as he turns on the shower. 

The blond boy watches as another tutor storms out of the room, angry and frustrated. She locks the door behind her like she's been instructed, not giving the boy an opening to even see the hallway outside. Sometimes he wonders how much his parents pay the teachers for them to keep their mouths shut about the situation, or if no one simply cares enough to tell anyone.  
He wouldn't blame them. He's thirteen and already called a monster, an abomination, someone who never should've been born, more times than he can count. And he knows they're right, they're always right and he would take it all back if he could, would wipe himself from existence if he could. Maybe it'd be simpler that way. 

By the time he turns fourteen his arms and thighs are full of deep scars. He doesn't feel anything anymore and he hates it, hates himself for not being able to function like a normal human being. He covers everything up with the horribly formal and stiff clothes that are pushed through the opening on his door once in a while, the same opening where he's gotten his food from for the past six years.  
At least his current tutor's nice. She's an older woman who looks like she might drop dead at any given moment but her voice is genuine when she tells him he's very bright for his age. She reminds him of his grandmother and sometimes the boy wonders how she's doing. Wonders if she's still even alive or worried about him. 

\--

He gets his answer a few weeks later when Theo's voice comes through the door, quiet and stuttering.  
“Bruder, we- we're going to obaasan's funeral,” the tiny voice says, only to be drowned out by his father's much stronger one, telling him to step away from the door and get in the car.  
And Noiz just sits there, head on his knees, for what seems like hours. He didn't think he cared anymore, didn't think he could even feel anything anymore, but now he hurts. He hurts so bad and he just wants it to stop, wants it all to go away. He never asked for this, never asked to be born and locked away. It's just not fair.  
That's when he gets the idea and he feels like it's the best one he's had in a while. 

\--

He's sitting on his bed, a blanket pulled over his head and a rabbit plushie hugged close to his chest. It's still early, the sun only just starting to rise from the horizon, but he hasn't gotten any sleep again. Instead, he's been sitting there without moving for a while, trying to think everything over. Noiz absentmindedly scratches at the scarred skin on his wrists.  
Noiz is fourteen when he tries to take his own life.

It doesn't work, of course, and when he wakes up he's still in his own bed. But instead of his skin being caked with dried blood, they're cleanly bandaged up, making him feel like they had almost been done with care. Just almost.  
He also takes notice that all even remotely sharp objects have been taken away and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. The nice tutor never comes back either. 

And then he's fifteen and scared off another one, but this time it's different. As the man dashes out of the room, he closes the door behind him but something's left missing. Noiz doesn't hear the telltale sound of the lock clicking and for a moment he just stands there. Then he's walking to the door, all careful and soft steps, softer than a teenager's should be, and slowly turns the handle. And for the first time in years, the door opens, giving him a visual of a hallway with creamy walls and daylight all around.  
He doesn't cry as he shoves what little he has into a small, old backpack, doesn't make a sound as he stumbles out of the large house, and keeps quiet as he looks at the planes leaving Germany. Noiz decides Midorijima sounds good and for the first time in ages, it all doesn't hurt as much as it used to. 

Years later, when he has been given the opportunity, the blessing, to feel physical pain it's more than he could ever have hoped for. He's nineteen and thinks he can handle any kind of pain, as long as Aoba's the one causing it.


End file.
